Pieces of this week, trapped in transit because the owner of the memories can't make up her mind where they should be kept.
Copeland and the mesmerising voice. One hundred thousand perfect moments. Did i know you at all before this? Almost blinded, maybe, by the smoke and cotton candy, in broad daylight that went unwasted, hours that stole away under my nose. I told the sad story of the moon that lost its memory and it only brought about more laughter, unfortunately. All the things i took seriously are just jokes now.
A wish that never was made, exploding in colour all around me. Fireworks on saturday night, because "we're not made in the USA." All the things i haven't done, all the things i did without planning to. Isn't that what a surprise is? All that wasn't planned.
I will still get lost everyday. One last week of nothing but stitches and superglue. By my next birthday, i'll have changed-to what? Maybe by then i won't keep saying "i don't know" to every puzzlement, maybe by then i won't bump my head everyday, maybe by then i'll be strong enough to stop killing myself.
It's time to wake up. It'd be the perfect ending. But no, i open my eyes in the morning and it's all still there.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
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julie
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7/19/2005 12:13:00 PM
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